I've been thinking that what the Blogosphere really needs is a "Dear Mr. Obama" Thread. So, I'll start, and please feel free to leave your "Dear Mr. Obama" in comments. I'll print them out and mail them to the incoming occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. When you move into a new house, it's nice to have some mail for you, already sitting in the mailbox.
Dear Mr. Obama,
I'm an old, emotional woman, a Nonna, and a patriot. I can't walk into the Supreme Court, something I do on occasion for my job, without getting teary-eyed over the words "Equal Justice Under Law," carved above the front door. America, and what She's supposed to be about, are very dear to me. And my sweet, kind, intelligent, musical, imaginative, polite, two-and-a-half year-old G/Son is dearer to me than life itself. Dearer than the planet, dearer than Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Dearer than the Fifth Sacred Thing. Dearer than, well, dearer than just about anything or anyone.
Today, Mr. Obama, G/Son and I were driving to his house, and I was telling him that he was going to come spend the day with me on your Inauguration Day, since his parents have to work that day, I don't, and his day care center is closed. Mr. Obama, G/Son is at a stage that I'm sure you remember from when your two lovely daughters (may a thousand Goddesses bless them a thousand times a day for a thousand days) were two-and-a-half. Anything that you tell G/Son generates questions.
G/Son wanted to know what "Inauguration" meant. I told my G/Son that, on your Inauguration Day, you would stand up in front of everyone (and that "everyone" included G/Son and me, at my home, watching on line on my computer). I told him that you would stand up and make a very, very serious promise to everyone in our country, indeed, to everyone in the world and to, even, your god, that you would follow some important rules that are written down in a piece of paper that we call the Constitution. G/Son said, "Why he will promise to obey the rules in the Constitution?" I told my G/Son that, before we give one person all the power that we're going to give to you, Mr. Obama, we want them to make a very serious promise to everyone that they will follow the rules, even with all that power. G/Son said, "Even to me? Pwesdident Obama will make the swerious pwomwise even to me?" You weren't there, Mr. Obama. And so, I answered for you. And I said that yes, yes you would, you would make that serious promise especially to G/Son.
The guy before you lied when he made his promise. Dear Mr. Obama, do not fuck up your promise to my G/Son. Do not fuck this up. I am just saying.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."